


Gods and Monsters

by Cassianpeia



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alina can paint, Betrayal, Defiance, F/M, Fear, Hades and Persephone inspired, I should probably include more Alarkling interaction, Journey, One-shot sort of thing, Opening, Painting, Probably slow burn :))))), Quirks, dance, feedback appreciated!, oc called Katarina who I will protect with my life, warmth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassianpeia/pseuds/Cassianpeia
Summary: The morning would have been beautifully serene ... if it wasn't for the ominous man standing before her.——A series of one-shots, (very) loosely inspired by Hades and Persephone, exploring the relationship between Alina and the Darkling - and possibly more characters in the future.





	1. Prologue

Birds twitter and sing from their hiding spots among the leaves and branches of the evergreen trees. Faint music plays softly, carried by the slight breeze from her mother's home through the garden and into the forest beyond. Even the sky is clear, a pleasant surprise as the weather has been terrible for the past couple of weeks. Her mother had sworn it was a bad omen, yet Alina had ignored her anyway. Though now she supposes she really should have listened, for the morning would have been beautifully serene ... if it wasn't for the ominous man standing before her.

Most notably, he seems at one with the shadows that surround him along the edge of the forest. This isn't just due to his entirely black clothing - with a hint of fashionable silver embroidery, but only a hint - or his dark hair. The shadows appear to caress his form; they kiss his skin and whisper against his hair like a tender lover. Alina decides that this what unnerves her most. Not his stoic, unmoving expression, or his intimidating stance, but the way that he is completely comfortable with the dark, something she has hated ever since she was a little girl. Darkness hides the unknown, and Alina hates not knowing.

His eyes roam over her form. Something in his gaze makes her shift uncomfortably; something akin to appraisal, appreciation. This, Alina is not used to. By comparison to most of the girls from her town Alina is frail, beyond the daintiness most boys seem to desire. She is nothing special, the opposite to a diamond in the rough. She wants to sink into the ground, hide from his gaze.

Grass tickles the soles of her bare feet as she shifts, an action must he notice - if the small raise of his eyebrow is anything to go by. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a voice that emanates the same darkness as the shadows enveloping him.

"Hello, Sun Summoner."

Alina clenches her fists at the mocking name. He knows that she can barely conjure a small glow, let alone the power of the sun. Practice is something she lacks in. Without someone to tutor her properly, she has had to rely on stolen moments in her room, hiding her abilities from her mother as well as the outside world, or in the forest, which is how she supposes this man came to know of her whereabouts and summoning.

Slowly, surely, he takes a step forward, almost regal with his perfect posture and hands locked behind his back. Alina watches carefully, making sure not to take a step back. She knows that she has to portray some sort of strong front even if inside her nerves are tangled and her stomach is sick, even if it wont fool him. Her eyes rest on the shadows at his feet. They move with him, unnaturally, not like how shadows move with the sun, but as if they are living beings controlled by the man moving towards her. With her sudden epiphany, Alina's eyes raise to meet his own - liquid metal, cold and unflinching - and they narrow. She straightens, lifting her chin, mimicking the same sort of defiance she can muster when facing her mother.

"You're meant to be dead."

He stops and narrows his eyes in return, but she doesn't miss the miniature quirk of his lips. His eyes never leave her own.

This man before her had supposedly been executed by the royal family some time ago. He had believed himself a God, a higher being, and had paid for it severely. But now, Alina has no option but to believe what her eyes are showing her. 

The Darkling stands before her, and Alina doesn't know if what she feels so strongly is hatred or fear. 

She doesn't get the chance to figure it out, either.

The world around her falls to darkness, and Alina can feel the tendrils caressing her hair and kissing her skin much like how they did to him. This scares her, more than any ordinary darkness would. Panic rises within her, getting trapped in her throat and suffocating her. For a moment, there is some sort of glimmer, a spark of heat in a centre of her chest that flows down to her palms and burns at her fingertips. Then it disappears, and the shadows seem to sigh. All she can feel is disappointment. Tears prick at the back of her eyes and she gasps for breath.

It feels like hours before she feel cold, hard stone beneath her knees. It takes only a moment longer for cool fingers to lift her chin. Brown eyes meet grey.

Alina glares up at the cruel man in front of her, the Darkling, with as much hate and anger as she can muster. Lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, he simply shakes his head before releasing his hold on her chin and straightening. He returns to his regal posture, and she hates him for it. 

In her eyes, he is no king. 

He watches her shake with anger, watches her fight to keep the tears at bay, watches as she stands on weak legs.

"You're a monster." She spits out, but he only blinks. 

"And you are weak." He moves towards her again, and she swears she feels a tendrils run across the bare skin of her arms. "You have potential, and that is why you are here. I have no interest in some weakling who has no inkling of power." A caress of her cheek, her neck. "This will be much easier if you comply. There is a room prepared for you - don't make this any more difficult than it has to be, for your sake."

The Darkling turns on his heel. Alina feels the absence of the shadows immediately, and grits her teeth. With a small burst of energy, she rips her shoe off of her foot and launches at the Darkling. It misses, by quite a distance, and it does nothing to quell her anger. 

Alina sinks to the floor again, staring at the marble archway he strode through moments before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Alarkling fic! Feedback welcome. I'll probably add onto this in due course. I'd really like to write and develop their relationship.


	2. Defiance

Alina's defiance comes in many forms. She trains and practices, without much complaint, because she can see the use in it. There is no point in being useless, or weak, or dependent on a man she hates - but that doesn't mean she can't aggravate him.

It starts with the embroidery on her clothing, or more specifically, the clothing he has chosen for her. Her wardrobe is full of dresses and fitted shirt and trouser combos that a soldier would wear, which she guesses are for training, that range from black to dark grey, keeping with the theme of the entire household. The colour scheme doesn't bother her especially, until she spots the appreciation in his gaze and the small, discrete smirk tugging at his lips. From that moment on, every sleeve and neckline and hem is embroidered with colourful patterns. Every blue swirl and every red flower brings a frown and narrowed eyes, and Alina loves every moment of it.

She quickly learns to avoid gold.

He sees the gold glimmer on one of her dresses after it has been finished - "like a star in the darkest night, or the sun rising" Katarina, a servant who has taken a particular liking to Alina, states. Alina often wonders if she also enjoys seeing the Darkling irritated - and he smirks. Alina is too busy admiring the slim gown in a long mirror to spot him straight away. As soon as she looks up to meet his eyes, expecting the same annoyance as usual, she is sorely disappointed. Alina slams the door shut, muttering something about Darklings not understanding privacy under her breath.

The dress hasn’t made an appearance since, even though it is Alina’s favourite, and neither has the gold thread.

Second comes the painting. Katarina suggests that she takes up a hobby, and with the permission of the Darkling, manages to find her a space where she can practice whatever she likes. It is close to her room, and has wide windows to let light in. Fortunate for Alina, as she chooses painting as her hobby. Alina loves to paint, and luckily it is something she is quite good at.

As soon as she acquires paint and a brush, bright and gaudy portraits and landscapes start to appear on the walls. He mentions nothing of it at first, simply frowning whenever she enters the dining room with paint on her face - she does this on purpose. However, a week later, he stands in her little studio really quite looking like he wants to snap her brush in two.

 _Ah,_ she thinks, _so he’s finally found the portrait._

“Though the likeness may be impressive,” Alina hates the small surge of pride that grows in her chest at the comment, especially as it comes from him.“Please do remember for next time that I do not own any golden robes.”  
She had painted him in such robes, holding the sun in his hands as if he were worshipping it. Alina saw it fitting. He, apparently, did not.

His eyes narrow on her, and she can feel her sickly sweet smile widen a fraction.  
“But I thought you looked quite dashing in them.” Alina quickly comments, setting her brush down on the palette.  
She realises she has made a mistake when his frown morphs into a subtle smirk.  
“I didn’t realise you thought of me so often.”

The door slams in his face, yet again.

Her final act of defiance takes the form of her dining with the servants. Except, this method does not nearly last as long as the previous two. She dutifully continues to embroider - with the assistance of Katarina - any new clothes she acquires, and continues to paint whatever she likes to brighten up the halls of the large mansion, but she cannot keep to eating with the servants. 

It isn’t as if she is disgusted by them. Quite the opposite, actually. After all, Alina is an orphan - as the Darkling sometimes cruelly states, reminding her that her mother is not her mother, but just another random guardian. She doesn’t bother to remind _him_ that she is beyond twenty, and that if her foster-mother had wanted her out, she could have sent her away as soon as she had reached adulthood - and she enjoys their company. Their normality almost reminds her of home.

It is during a training session that she decides to continue eating with the Darkling.

He stands a few metres in front of her, watching as she practices another sequence of drills to help her strength and focus, when he breaks the silence.

“Why have you stopped joining me for dinner?”

Alina pauses for a moment, confusion flitting across her expression before continuing with the drill. There is no vulnerability in his tone, no hint of emotion. He is neutral, stoic, as always.

“They are better company than the man who kidnapped me.” 

It is a straightforward answer, and he doesn't seem surprised by it, yet she can't ignore the slight furrow of his brow. The Darkling has not asked her why she changes the clothes he buys her, and has never demanded that she stop the too-bright paintings, so his question stays with her throughout the rest of their session. 

Surely it doesn’t bother him enough to ask.

That evening, Alina joins him again but refuses to meet his gaze, despite being able to feel his upon her the entire meal.

Alina knows what it is like to eat alone in the dark, craving company even if they are silent. She doesn’t wish such isolation upon anyone else, even the man she claims to hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figured I would make ‘Gods and Monsters’ into a series of one-shots instead of a full on fic, seeing as I don’t have the time to commit to one at the minute. I’m also planning on bringing in another characters later on, like the Lantsovs (which means possible Nikolina scenes ;)) and possibly Mal, Genya, Zoya etc.  
> As per, please grace me with feedback (I really want to make sure people enjoy what I write.)


	3. Opening

Alina hates the Darkling more than she has ever hated anyone before, and that's saying something for someone who tends to hold grudges for a long time.

She hates him for taking her away from the only true comfort she's ever known - even if her mother isn't her real mother, and even if her mother would have hated her if she'd found out she was grisha.  
She hates him for confining her in the dark mansion. Even if there are beautiful gardens and many servants to keep her company, it still isn't enough.  
And she mostly hates him for his down right stubborn nature and refusal to see things her way. 

Her first few weeks at the mansion - which is more like a small palace, really. She has no idea how he came about such wealth, but she has a sneaky suspicion that it has something to do with the Royal Family, who oh-so-quietly decided not to execute him - are spent glaring at her bedroom door and refusing to leave or eat much.

Alina knows she becomes even thinner than before, and that the dark circles under her eyes do nothing for her appearance, but she continues. It's only when Katarina threatens to force feed her, using a tone that Alina can only describe as terrifying, that she relents.  
"You're weak enough as it is." Alina grumbles under her breath at the statement, but she knows it's true. That doesn't mean she has to like it, however. "And you're no use to any of us starving. There's a reason you're here, it's not for fun and games, even if you don't know it yet." Katarina makes she sure eats at least half of her meal before leaving. 

Alina eats the entire thing.

Training isn't so bad, she realises soon enough. The Darkling oversees the training of her abilities for a little while, probably to garner how weak she is, before transferring her over a much crankier tutor: Baghra. Although she is really quite vicious, and Alina has plenty of bruises on her shins from the old woman's wicked cane, Alina respects her enough to hold back most of the remarks she wishes to say. 

Any time she brings up the Darkling and his reasoning for keeping her there, Alina receives a much harder rap to her shins and a sharp "focus". Alina can't tell what Baghra thinks of her but she figures her company can't be considered all that terrible, since she often asks - demands - Alina to read to her. 

Alina doesn't mind. She used to read to the orphans, too.

It doesn't take long for her to become much stronger, for her appetite to grow, for her to finally start looking healthy. It also doesn't take the servants long to realise that Alina's resentment hasn't simmered down at all. 

So Katarina approaches her in her room one day. "As much as I find your little defiance entertaining, your complete hatred is misplaced." Alina opens her mouth to speak, confusion and irritation scrunching her features, but is interrupted by Katarina's slightly raised, wrinkled hand and kind smile. "You must wonder why there are so many of us servants, when he planned on causing such devastation and is so merciless.” 

“Katarina, he stole me from my home and keeps me confined here, like some caged animal.” 

“Listen, and maybe you will find it in yourself to perceive things a different way... stubbornness must be a common trait among powerful Grisha.” Alina resists the temptation to roll her eyes.

Instead, she sits, and she listens.

_There was a young girl, barely ten, who was stolen from a field of wheat in the middle of the day. She managed to take down two of her attackers, but the third suppressed her with some sort of drug. When she woke, the girl was in a cage, still in her rags, though with many more bruises and cuts. And she ached. Oh, how she ached. Her wrists and ankles were sore from the weight of the metal chains, and all she could hear was the groans and moans of fellow Grisha who had also been taken. The girl cried. She cried until she could cry no more. As soon as her tears were spent, the girl kept a strong front._

_The next time she felt sunlight was when she stood on a wooden podium, splinters digging into the soles of her bare feet and her eyes running across the restless crowd. They all whispered, conferred, connived. She clenched her fists and refused to cry anymore, even when she felt the tears prickling at the backs of her eyes. There were hungry eyes and smiles everywhere. It wasn’t for her abilities - though she had the potential to become a fairly strong Grisha - they only cared for her beauty, and her skills in carrying plates and cleaning laundry._

_As soon as they found out she was a heartrender, grins slipped and the whispers only increased. Heartrenders were too dangerous, too hostile. The girl didn’t feel any relief, however, when no one placed a bid. It only meant that she would be transported to some sort of pleasure house, forced into a life of costumes and the constant fear of abuse. She was too young to be taken to such a place. But they didn’t care. Not one bit. The thought terrified her more than the idea of being owned by some noblewoman. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and moved to step off the pedestal when someone called out._

_His voice was deep, cool, like every word was precise and calculated. He wasn’t exactly scary looking, the girl decided, but he didn’t quite look kind either. She was practically dragged to his side by her captors, and though she knew it was useless, she fought every step of the way.  
It was only when his cool hand touched her cheek that she stopped, panting still, but calmer no less. Something in his touch made her feel sure, and steady. _

_But it was his words that truly made her feel safe, promises of security and the ability to practice her abilities without the risk of being persecuted._

Alina watches Katarina slowly push and pull a needle through a new addition to Alina’s wardrobe, and realises that no matter how cruel he is and how immoral his methods are, the Darkling only seeks to create a safe place for Grisha to reside.

Perhaps this is when Alina decides to open her heart, just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ll probably come back to this chapter again to improve it because it’s my least favourite so far, but it’s much better than any original drafts (believe it or not)... pls don’t hate me for this chapter.
> 
> Also, I am lacking any beta/proof readers so if there are any mistakes, please do point them out.


	4. Quirks

Alina decides one day to make a mental list of all of the Darkling’s little quirks. One, for pure curiosity and amusement, and two, to prove to herself that he is human.

• He puts extra sugar in his porridge, always. Probably much more than what is considered healthy.

• When he is bored (and she’s only seen this a couple of times) he twirls his shadows around his fingers, sometimes watching them, sometimes not. 

• When he concentrates, his legs to not bounce up and down, and he doesn’t crack his knuckles, but he does tap his fingers on whatever surface he can find. This one annoys Alina to no end. And she’s told him. Several times.

• He knows each servant by name.

• She practices in the garden often, and whenever he watches her his fingers twitch, as if he wants to touch her glowing skin. Sometimes, she wishes he would - and that scares her.

What Alina doesn’t know, is that the Darkling is doing the exact same to her. 

•Alina more often than not walks around with paint splattered on her arms and face. It’s endearing, more than anything, but he does wonder why she isn’t more careful.

• She hates herring. _Hates it._ But she stomachs a little anyway for the servants’ sake.

• He’s only been in her room a couple of times, but each time there have been books and art supplies scattered everywhere, as well as unfinished projects. It’s a large contrast to his room, which is practically bare. 

• She rolls her eyes. A lot. 

• She resists the urge to pull faces at him. A lot.  
\- She does this once, and laughs at his surprised expression. It’s the first time he hears her laugh, and he won’t admit to himself that it is one of the loveliest sounds he’s ever heard. 

• She embraces sunlight with closed eyes and parted lips. All he feels is a mixture of longing, confusing and anger. She has only been there for a few months, and already she is inside his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if anyone is actually following this, but if you are, although updates are quite quick now they will probably, most likely slow down from Saturday onwards (1st June), because school starts back up. I’ll try to keep up, which shouldn’t be so bad considering this isn’t a fully fledged fic.
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter :)


	5. Dance

It isn't easy, this dance of theirs. The Darkling, well practiced in the art, can't seem to figure out the steps, and Alina, not a natural dancer at all, can't keep her balance. It always starts with one step forwards and two steps back - they both know that - but then there's sudden turns in random directions and they find themselves getting lost. 

One moment, they are close, confused, because shouldn't being this close be impossible, repulsing? And then they are apart, too far apart but also not far enough. They avoid and ignore, waiting for the other to give in and start the dance all over again (it's usually the Darkling that gives in first, spurred on by Katarina's scolding). 

The dance is composed of small, mostly accidental touches. A small whisper of a touch against her lower back, a brush of skin against his wrist, the knocking of knees beneath a table. Alina knows she should be repulsed, but what once made her skin crawl now makes her spine shiver. So she twirls out of his reach, curtseys, and disappears.

The Darkling is no less effected. He just hides it better.

The music poses just as much of a problem; it is fast in some moments. Too fast for either of them to keep up. They stumble along, holding on to each other for support - though usually ripping apart soon after. Sometimes it is too slow, leaving too much time for Alina to think and ponder and wonder what on Earth is happening because there is no way she could be enjoying - 

And then she is whisked away again, the music picking up the pace and leaving her previous thoughts trailing behind her. 

It angers the Darkling, as he is an intelligent and logical person and not even he can make sense of the dance. It frustrates Alina, as she can't tell who's in control... or if either of them even are. 

As confusing as it is, and as much as they claim to dislike it, there are times where they manage perfect harmony. They are in time with each other, completely undisturbed, as if a peaceful quiet has descended upon the mansion that not even their bickering can break. Neither of them know, of course, completely blind to the fact that they are keeping up with the music, that they know the steps as well as their shadows and light, that they are close, close enough to touch, and haven't pulled apart. 

Until a new note is struck and the sequence begins anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I’m back! Sorry it took so long, and that this one shot is much shorter (like the previous chapter), but exams suddenly popped up and I’ve been having trouble with inspiration as well. Summer is finally here though, so I’ll be able to work on it much more :) let me know if there are any mistakes.


	6. Painting

Alina's paintings, big and small, are hung up throughout the corridors and rooms of the mansion; landscapes and portraits and still life pieces that all have one thing in common: gold. It's rarely something obvious - the centre of a flower, the sun in the distance, the highlights of someone's hair - but it's always there. The majority of the paintings aren't incredibly realistic, little aspects too exaggerated or added or even missing, many have to be made from memory since _someone_ won't let her venture too far outside. 

Her paintings may be beautiful but her studio is a mess. If anyone wishes to visit, they must step around piles of canvases and other surfaces she's experimenting with, boxes of paints and paintbrushes, and paintings themselves. Not all are hung up, some are discarded. Alina usually lets her imagination and sudden inspiration guide her which, much to her chagrin, sometimes leads to him making an appearance in her work. 

Even though she doesn't hate her new home as much as she used to, her paintings still hold a particular longing for the outside. There is always something magical about landscapes she paints, a beauty that once brought tears to Katarina’s eyes. Her portraits often have the same effect. Alina once painted a portrait for one of the servants, so that she could send it to her sweetheart. She’d refused payment, even if it had taken her days to complete. Seeing her happiness was payment enough, and anyway,  
Alina finds solace in her work. 

She uses it as a release for all of her pent up stress and anger and worries. There’s no doubt that after a particularly trying session with Baghra or the Darkling, pages of her sketchbook will be filled with random sketches - often caricatures of her teachers. These pages, unsurprisingly, remain hidden. She doesn’t exactly want to risk another caning from Baghra. However, it isn’t only small doodles that dot the pages of her sketchbook.

Nightmares still plague her, every now and then. Even after five months she can’t seem to escape their hold. Alina wakes in the middle of the night, swearing, a scream caught in her throat, and immediately reaches for a pencil. She sketches everything down: the dark creatures that had prowled after her, the taloned hands that had reached out, the smothering darkness. 

These also remain hidden. Not because she fears the Darkling’s reaction, but because she doesn’t want him presume that she thinks he is a monster. When she started to care, Alina doesn’t know. She doesn’t like that she cares, either, but that doesn’t stop her chest from clenching at the thought of upsetting him.

She paints her pleasant dreams too. Fields of gold, yellow and pink skies, caring friends and loving family. 

One morning, she wakes with the image of her latest dream still fresh in her mind, sits in front of her canvas with paintbrush and palette in hand, and begins to paint.

This is what she creates: in the middle of the canvas stands a woman, emerging from the darkness behind her. There isn’t anything especially stunning about her appearance. Her hair is a mousy brown colour, her skin pale, her cheekbones sharp and her lips parted, but around her head is a crown of light. Hands, outstretched as if in greeting, hold orbs of sun that cast light on the darkness, forcing it back, scaring it away. 

She stands, takes a few step backwards, and rests her hands on her hips as she looks at the painting. Alina doesn’t know what makes her do it, or why she decides it’s a good idea, but she moves back to the painting and with the finest paintbrush she has, adds black embroidery to the golden robes. Maybe it’s vain of her, perhaps even sacrilege, to create a self portrait in the style she has, presented as a saint, but all Alina can see is someone powerful. She has felt weak and vulnerable all of her life, but seeing, creating a painting such as this, she can almost imagine herself being as powerful as this. 

It’s exhilarating, empowering even. 

The painting appears on the space of wall just outside of her room a couple of days later. Every time she walks past it, her fingers skin across the golden robes, the orbs, the retreating darkness, and it is a reminder that she is strong, that she can harness her power to the best of her abilities, that she doesn’t have to limit herself anymore. The only person who hasn’t commented on the painting is the Darkling - even Baghra remarked that it was narcissistic. Alina simply snorted. 

He doesn’t seem to have taken any notice of the portrait at all.

Meaning it is a complete shock when Alina sees the Darkling himself standing in front of her portrait, hand outstretched, fingers running across the black patterns she’d added. _Ah,_ she thinks, watching as his usually stoic face morphs into something more open, something akin to appreciation. _That’s why._

Her arms cross and she prepares herself to retort with some smart or sarcastic comment, but her arms slacken and she feels her lips part slightly when his gaze turns to her, and states in the softest tone she’s ever heard come from his lips, “it’s beautiful.” His gaze, locked on to hers, brings heat to her cheeks and a lump to her throat. The Darkling looks at the portrait one last time, before withdrawing his hand and slipping down the darkened corridor.

Alina feels enthralled and terrified all at once; enthralled because it’s the highest compliment he has paid her so far. Terrified because she realises then that she would do almost anything to see that look on his face again, especially if he would direct it at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been thinking about this chapter for ages, because there were so many different ways that I could have taken it, but I’m generally quite pleased with how the development of their relationship is shown here. Please comment, point out any mistakes, and give me some feedback! I’m always looking for advice on how to improve my writing, as I want to give you guys the best version of these as possible. :)


	7. Painting II

It’s on a particularly dreary morning, after an extremely sleepless night, that the Darkling finds himself stumbling over something just outside of his bedroom door. He takes a deep breath, composing himself, before reaching down to pick up whatever it is that obstructed his path.

The item is wrapped in black silk with a silver ribbon. The Darkling runs his fingers across the material, frowning in confusion, before carefully pulling the ribbon off and removing the black silk.

He freezes, and it’s almost as if he forgets to breathe for a moment.

It’s a portrait, similar to the one of Alina, except this time it’s _him._ He stands in the same position as her but instead of orbs of light, ribbons of shadow pool from between his fingers and swirl around him. Behind his figure, in the sky, a silver moon rises and the stars shine. It’s beautiful, there’s no doubt about it, but it isn’t the scenery or shadows that truly capture his attention, it’s the robes that he wears. They are black, designed similarly to the ones he currently wears, except the embroidery is golden instead of silver.

The Darkling feels the corner of his lips tug, running his hands across the golden patterns like he had with Alina’s portrait, but quickly freezes.

He realises with a jolt that it is the first time in a long while that he has smiled, however little it may be...

And it is all because of Alina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little quick chapter because I felt like it would be a good follow on to the previous.


	8. Warmth

They sit opposite each other in the darkened library. There is a book in his lap, open on a random page, but his focus isn’t on the words. Candles flicker, allowing enough light to read, yet she chooses to use her own. It collects in the palm of her hand, almost hypnotic in the way it pulses, regularly, like a heartbeat. He knows that if she were to become angered, the orb in her palm would become much more erratic. Sometimes, it feels like a glimpse into her soul. Always, he reminds himself to resist being so poetic in fear of becoming even more entranced with her than he already is.

The light casts shadows across her face; his eyes follow the shadows, along the slim curve of her neck, the dip in her upper lip, the sharpness of her cheekbones. Her eyes scan the page she currently reads, taking in the information as keenly as he takes in her.

About one month into her stay - or imprisonment as she likes to call it, though now she says it with much less malice than she once did - the Darkling realised that Alina had brought with her a certain warmth. A warmth that had encompassed the mansion, and the people within. It started with the servants or in particular, Katarina. Katarina had never been a miserable woman, always trying to find some optimistic look on any situation, but she had always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

Then Alina arrived, and suddenly Katarina seemed lighter. At first he presumed it was because she found amusement in Alina’s antics, especially because they irritated him to no end. Amusement was understandable. At that time, the Darkling still perceived her as nothing more than insolent. There was no possible way that someone could feel tenderness towards a woman with _that_ much of a capacity for sarcasm. 

A few weeks later, he’d been venturing through Alina’s wing, when he’d stopped dead outside of her door. Both curiosity and confusion hit him. Was that laughing he heard? Katarina’s laugh? It had seemed like years since Katarina had last truly laughed, and all it had taken was a certain sun summoner to bring it back. He’d continued on after a moment, the sound of both laughs ringing in his ears for the rest of the day.

It didn’t take him long to notice that it wasn’t just Katarina who had been effected by Alina. All of the servants seemed lighter in some way, as if they had suddenly found a new found joy in their work - it wasn’t as if the Darkling treated them badly, he was a considerate employer, but all work grew tiresome over time. Their feet no longer dragged across the dark carpets, they chatted amongst themselves with more enthusiasm, and they constantly smiled when Alina was around. He supposed it was because she treated them with the respect they deserved, something only he had ever done. But it went further, deeper than that. 

Not only did she listen to them, ask about their days, treat their problems as if they were her own, she also assisted in the kitchen, completed favours for them without asking for anything in return, even refused to eat before they had on some days. Alina’s presence as a whole made them feel as though there was more to their lives than serving guests and cleaning floors, it made them happier, weightless.

Even Baghra had been mellowed somewhat. To anyone else, the changes wouldn’t be noticeable, but the Darkling knew his mother as well as, perhaps even better than, the shadows he controlled. Changes came in the form of raps of her cane that were slightly lighter than before, a voice that was a little softer, a tad more patience. Alina even told stories to his mother. 

Alina had more time for his mother than he had. 

Alina made his mother feel worth while again. 

Soon, she was having the same effect on him. Dinner became less lonely, more enjoyable, even when she was quiet. Training, once frustrating, filled with her retorts and his impatience, became a time of peace. They still fought, testing each other’s abilities, but she no longer questioned his advice and he no longer treated her as though she were a child. She sang off key, danced without rhythm, yet he still found himself fighting the urge to smile, fighting to remain stoic. 

Her smiles were a spark, her laugh a flame, her touch a wild fire. 

He found himself seeking her company more and more often, even for the most mundane of things if he could manage it. 

For someone who had been trapped in the cold for so long, warmth felt like a gift from the heavens. A blessing from a saint.

This effect is exactly why he finds himself in her company yet again, in the library, resisting the temptation to trace the light on her neck with his fingers instead. Desire makes one weak, he knows that, but he also can’t fight the idea that she may just be making him stronger.

A quick knock on the door breaks him from his reverie. Regretfully, he drags his eyes away from the figure in front of him, and calls for the person to enter. It alarms him that the servant, Joseph, a usually collected man, looks pale. 

“There’s a courier at the door, sir. He says it’s most urgent.” 

As soon as the word ‘courier’ leaves his lips, the Darkling stands and swiftly exits the library. There is only ever one person who bothers to communicate with him, and by the uniform the courier wears and the wax seal of the scroll he carries, he knows exactly who he is dealing with.

The dark words on the white scroll stick out like a sore thumb. His fists clench, the paper crumples, shadows climb the walls.

It seems their time is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One completely from the Darkling’s pov! As always, please give me feedback and point out any errors


	9. Fear

"The King demands our presence." A pause. "He wishes to meet the sun summoner."

The light in her palm disappears immediately.


	10. Betrayal

Her eyes scan his face, searching for something, anything other than his usual stoic calm. It's a fruitless task. Hands clenched and spine rigid, Alina swallows the bile that threatens to rise up her throat.

"You knew, all along." Her voice is quiet, but not meek. It carries all of her anger and frustration and pure feelings of _betrayal._

She waits for a reply, waits for his denial, waits for him to tell her that he would stop it if he could.

"I guessed." Is all he says.

Alina ignores the little voice in the back of her mind that tells her she should just launch herself at him, show him what it means to betray the sun summoner. 

Instead she slowly stands, her gaze never leaving his. 

"Was it an easy decision?" 

In that moment, Alina realises that she was silly to think that he ever felt any fondness for her. He was training her to be a weapon, all for a King who is known for his manipulation of Grisha, who is known for his greed, who is known for showering women with gifts if they do one particular favour for him in return. 

This King would see a sun summoner, _the_ sun summoner, as a prime target. Not for her looks - Alina knows she is fairly plain compared to many of the women in court - but for her power. Power is addictive to men like the King, and Alina has plenty. The Darkling is fully aware of this. 

"We leave tomorrow, at dawn. Rest. We have a long visit ahead of us."

With that final comment, he leaves. 

With that final comment, Alina bursts into light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the last update for at least a week, as I’m on holiday until the 4th. But I’m going to Greece, so maybe I’ll comment across some new ideas for this story if I’m lucky.


	11. Journey

Waves softly lull against the side of the ship, cutting through the water like a swan, swift, despite its size. The sun casts its beams across the sea, making it glimmer and sparkle. Alina would be taken by the sheer beauty of the setting, were it not for the blabbering captain next to her. 

When they had stepped on to the ship, Alina had noticed right away that there was something not quite right about his appearance. Perhaps it was his reddish hair, or maybe his muddy eyes - or even his nose, which looked like it had been broken one too many times (which, she finds later on, is no surprise considering how irritating and arrogant he can be). But she didn't have enough time to ponder. The Darkling had whisked the captain away to his cabin for a quick 'chat'. Alina didn't want to think about what sort of intimidation tactics the Darkling had used. Even though the captain was hired by the king himself, it seemed as though the Darkling held no trust for the man. 

This, again, wasn't surprising. Standing next to him now, Alina already knows that the captain has several different masks. Each word he says is calculated. Even the ones that seem too risky, too brash, are actually thought through and chosen carefully. He is a performer, this man, and Alina is all too aware of how misleading performers can be.

"So you're a pirate then?" Alina interrupts, her eyes still on the waves but her focus almost completely on the man beside her. He'd been telling her tales, swashbuckling adventures, involving looting other ships and striking the fear into enemies' hearts. Some of it is definitely exaggerated. There is no possible way that his crew fended off three ships and a group of tide makers on their own. 

The captain looks to her with a grin. Even this looks odd, like his lips are too thin.  
"A privateer, actually." He seems proud of it. Alina resists the urge to roll her eyes and instead focuses on the sky and the lovely pinks and oranges that are beginning to seep from behind the clouds.

"Then you are no better than a paid thief."  

"And you, my lady, are no better than a sulking child."

Alina grits her teeth and crosses her arms over her chest. She can practically feel the satisfaction rolling off of him, and it takes everything in her power not too push him over the railing. There is a small part of her, despite her annoyance, that knows she is sulking. It is the completely opposite of the powerful, collected woman she’s trying to be. But she can't help it. If _he_ insists on ignoring her, making her feel like an insolent child, then Saints forsake her if she acts like one.

She takes a deep breath, tilts her head ever so slightly to look at the captain, and smiles - though it probably looks more like a grimace.  
"Perhaps it's your company that makes me brood." 

The captain nods, as if contemplating the statement, but the mischievous glint in his eye never leaves - and Alina finds herself warming up to him the tiniest bit.

"I like to think that my presence effects women in an entirely different way." 

A scoff. 

"Oh really?"

A nod.

"Yes. Swooning, crying, singing; the lot."

A laugh.

"You're completely conceited. Delusional, even."

A bow.

"And you are smiling for the first time since you stepped on my ship. You're most welcome, my dear." 

Before Alina can reply, he leaves. Her eyes follow him as he strolls away, only to land on a pair much darker than her own. As usual his expression is barely readable, but she knows that he disapproves of her interaction with Sturmhond, so she smiles sweetly, almost sickeningly so, in his direction. His lips twitch, forming a scowl, the only sign of any frustration, before he stalks off. Alina likes to think that she feels purely satisfaction, purposely ignoring the small feeling of guilt and longing that clenches in her chest. 

The Darkling's disapproval truly knows no bounds. He hovers everywhere, constantly, like some sort of spirit that has chosen to haunt Alina but never interact. 

Alina takes to spending most of her time on deck with the crew and Sturmhond. Their company helps pass the time quickly, and she finds herself becoming more and more fond of them as time goes on. They tell her more tales and legends, which she chooses to believe whether they are true or not, and teach her sea shanties that she cherishes; she’ll be able to use them to irritate the Darkling more than she already does, which sounds incredible after how he’s acted during the past few days. In return, Alina entertains them with little tricks. They all find her gift fascinating, and why shouldn’t they? After all, the last sun summoner lived hundreds of years ago. To them, she is a rarity, a miracle.

But then the Darkling will interrupt. He’ll catch an orb Alina has produced and then suffocate it with his shadows. It’s nothing more than the man trying to establish himself as the alpha male, really. It’s him demonstrating that he is more powerful than the other rare grisha on the ship, and stronger than the captain - that stands a little too close to Alina for his liking, though Alina is completely unaware of this little bit of information. 

The crew, understandably intimidated by the show, slowly moves away from Alina and back to their stations. Sturmhond takes a few steps back but doesn’t move far. His hand moves to the hilt of his sword, but Alina doesn’t move. 

She stays on the crate, cross legged and leaning back on her hands. Her casual demeanour is the epitome of defiance, so Alina expects nothing but another scowl from the man opposite her. Instead, the corner of his lips quirk upwards. A smirk. Alina narrows her eyes and hops off of the crate, intending to head to her cabin. She’s nothing but an amusement to him, apparently. It makes her seethe. It’s when Sturmhond smirks as well that she loses all self control, and kicks his shin with as much force as possible.

Most evenings are spent looking up at the stars. After the first night, when Sturmhond had accidentally stumbled across Alina trying to figure out the constellations, Alina spends every night afterwards listening to the captain talk about how the constellations came to be, the stories behind them - and she’s entranced. Their conversations always lead on to more personal topics as the night wears on, usually tales of Sturmhond’s childhood that leave Alina in stitches. She hasn’t laughed like this in a long time. 

One evening, he asks Alina about the Darkling. She knew he would eventually. He’s too cunning and intelligent not to question it, question why the King wants to see such a man when someone very similar to him had posed such a threat so recently. Alina had prepared the answer to these questions before their journey had even began.

“As you know, he’s someone who was born with the same abilities as the previous Darkling.” A lie. He _is_ the previous Darkling. “I suppose he took me to train me up for the King. It’s the only explanation I can think of. He knew the King would request my presence eventually and didn’t warn me, even though he is fully aware of the King’s reputation.” 

Even though she can tell he wants to comment on the fact that their relationship is not as simple as captor and captive, or teacher and student, he doesn’t. He does, however, take her hand in his and press a soft kiss to her knuckles. She blushes, though it has more to do with attention in general than who is giving it to her - Alina still can’t get over his nose.

“There are many enemies in that palace, but there are also allies. You just have to know where to look. Do not despair, Sun Summoner. You are not alone.” 

Alina can’t help but think that this is the most genuine Sturmhond has been for the duration of the journey. They sit in silence for a few more moments, before Alina removes her hand from his and wishes him goodnight. 

The smile on her face drops immediately when she sees the Darkling standing outside of her cabin door. She expects him to comment on her evenings with Sturmhond that she knows he hates. Alina _wants_ him to hate it, wants him to be jealous, however silly the notion of him being jealous is. She hates herself for wanting him to feel such a way. It means she cares, and she really shouldn’t. 

Instead, he tells her - _tells her_ \- to wear the white and gold dress Katarina had packed. She thinks about ignoring the demand, but she knows it will probably be the best way to impress the King. So she steps into her cabin, closes the door quietly behind her, and decides not to punch the wall like she really wants to. 

The next morning, after they have docked, she returns the whistle from Stormhund’s lips with an obscene gesture of her own. His laugh follows her up the stairs, but everything seems to slip away when she sees the crowd at the port. Her feet stop just before the railing, and a darker figure joins her seconds later. Alina can’t even find the energy to make some sarcastic comment because the crowd is the largest she’s ever seen and every single person is chanting ‘Sankta’ over and over again. 

“I don’t understand.” Her voice is barely a whisper. 

“They think you’re a saint, Alina. People are finally starting to recognise that you are powerful. Cherish it.” 

His voice is just as quiet, just as soft as hers. It shocks her, the softness that he speaks with, how it comforts her more than the bold promise Sturmhond made the night before. 

Cool fingers brush hers, briefly, barely a touch, shocking her yet again. When he leaves, moving down the gangplank to part the crowd for her, his absence leaves her feeling cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy writing Sturmhond/Nikolai is hard. I’m not a naturally funny/charming person so it was definitely the hardest part of this chapter, plus getting the whole thing to flow properly. This chapter is more of a filler really, a bridge to the next few one shots that will take place in the palace. As usual, please let me know what you think!


	12. Arrival

The art on the ceiling is what captures her attention first. 

As they walk into the throne room, side by side, light and dark, it takes all of her will power not to stare at the art on the ceiling. Yes, the blue skies and fluffy clouds paired with the almost completely naked figures are garish at best, and a little too extravagant for her tastes, but the artistry is stunning and holds a magical quality she couldn't hope to replicate. She hazards a quick glimpse, enough to admire the work, before levelling her gaze back on the two thrones at the end of the crimson carpet - but doesn't dare make eye contact with the people on them.

The Darkling had told her before hand that how she decided to present herself was ultimately up to her, but she shouldn't appear too brave for the King would feel threatened, or too meek for the King would feel powerful - nor should she demonstrate too much of her ability, as the King would love to manipulate any power that she had, but she also shouldn't appear weak to save herself from being seen as simply a pretty face. By the end of the lecture, which left Alina feeling very much like a child again, she didn't hesitate to mention that it didn't particularly sound like much of it was up to her at all - and did he just call her pretty? He wasn't given the chance to retort. The grand - stupidly grand really, like the rest of the palace she'd seen - doors had opened, leaving Alina feeling slightly numb.

So there she stands, in the presence of one of the weakest Kings the kingdom has ever known, pretending to be someone she isn't.

Alina curtseys as the Darkling bows - she wants to bow as well, but apparently that isn't _acceptable_ enough. She pretends not to notice the Queen's leer. Wasn't her curtesy low enough? It certainly feels like her knees are about to snap from the effort.

The King even appears weak. She has known people, often just childhood - even adulthood - bullies, who appear strong but are in fact cowardly and weak. But the King, who is possibly one of the worst bullies she has ever had the displeasure of laying her eyes on, can't even seem to summon a simple illusion of strength. His chin wobbles, his mouth is too wet, and his eyes appear brash and watery - and still, he feels the right to be smug. 

Does he not realise that the man next to her could slice him in half with a clap of his hands? That if she really feels the need, she could blind him in an instant? That if they desire as much, they could - 

Alina cuts herself off, takes a subtle, deep breath, and clears her mind. If she is to succeed in this court, for however long they are staying, then she needs to learn how to act and pretend. If spending her evenings on the ship with Sturmhond had taught her anything, it is that playing into people's expectations can give you a necessary edge - whether it be a battle of swords, or a battle of wits. 

Using her ability, unlimited, for the past six months has left her much healthier than she has ever been before - but even now, she is still petite compared to most people and although there are clear signs of muscle beneath her skin many would still presume that her ability is limited to a simple orb of light. They don't know that she can almost perform the cut, or that she can take on someone twice her size and have a 75 percent chance of coming out the victor.

They don't need to know.

All they need to see is the seemingly fragile Saint with the pretty face, and it shouldn't be too hard to survive the palace and its politics.

The King speaks to the Darkling, but his eyes don't leave Alina and her shudder isn't feigned. He smiles. Alina wants to sink into the ground, but remains unmovable.

"The Sun Summoner, I presume?"

His head is now fully turned towards her, his eyes dipping lower than they should and his demeanour looking for too casual for someone who rules an entire country.

"Yes, your majesty-" the Darkling begins, but is cut off by the King. She can feel the anger rolling off of the man beside her, seeping into the cracks of the marble floor - all it would take is one push, and he could destroy the foundations of the entire palace. But he won't. Not yet.

"Surely the Saint can speak for herself?"

Alina forces a gracious smile and bows her head. 

"Of course, your majesty."

He moves two fingers, gesturing her forward like some pet. Alina can do nothing but comply. Each step towards the dais is a different way to make him wish he wasn't so smug. 

Perhaps she has been spending too much time with the Darkling.

But then again, she's always been a tiny bit aggressive.

Alina pauses a few steps before the throne, but he gestures again. _Closer?_ If anyone in the hall listened closely enough they would probably be able to hear her heart thumping in her chest. Another calming breath. She is so close that her feet almost brush his. The shadows growing behind the King are the only sign that she isn't the only one effected by this display. He holds his hand out to her, and Alina stares at it for a mere breath before taking it in hers - she's sure that if she holds on too tightly then some of his greasiness will rub off on to her. She wants to be sick.

Slowly, Alina bends and brings his knuckles to her lips. Is this even normal protocol? If the way his eyes roam across her face, drinking in every detail, is anything to do by, then he certainly seems pleased. It's funny really, how Alina knows that if the Darkling were to analyse every feature of her face the shiver down her spine would be due to an entirely different emotion. She wishes he would look at her like that, not like she was some insolent child. Though, now that she thinks about it, he _is_ quite old. Maybe she is a child to him.

A finger brushes across her knuckles. It's not tender. It's a sign of ownership, and it makes her want to scream. His eyes move down to her dress again, before slowly making their way back to her eyes. Alina feels naked, swallows the bile that begins to rise up her throat.

"Tonight, we shall throw a reception - a ball of sorts - in your honour." His voice lowers, as if he is attempting to purr. It only makes Alina want to jab him in the throat. "Do try to wear gold again, Sun Summoner. It would please me ever so greatly." This time, he presses a kiss to her knuckles. It lasts for far too long, and reminds her of being kissed by a fish. The man has more saliva than a starving dog.

After what feels like years he lets go of her hand and Alina takes careful steps back to the Darkling's side. The King dismisses them with nothing more than a wave of his hand. Like they are nothing. 

She clenches her hands together and keeps her eyes locked straight ahead as she walks out. Alina wants nothing more than to disappear, to rip off the dress and shove it into a very hot fire. She wants to watch it burn. She wants to scrub herself raw, until every trace of the King is gone from her fingertips and lips. It takes every ounce of self control, in that moment, not to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She wants to bury him in the ground and rip that crown from his head and-

A cool tingle slides across her hand, almost wrapping itself around her wrist, while another runs down her back. It only takes a moment for her to realise that it's the Darkling's work. He's trying to calm her. It makes her joyous and angry all at once. On the one hand, it means he cares, it means her anger worries him more than amuses him, but even then, he has no right to feel the need to calm her; isn't he the one who forced her into this position in the first place?

As soon as they exit the hall, the doors clicking shut behind them, Alina pays the Darkling no heed. She doesn't thank him, or seek further comfort - even though she wants to, craves some form of warm embrace. She simply seeks out the first servant she can find, and asks them to guide them to wherever she will be staying.

She is tired of being manipulated, tired of being a pawn in the world of men. 

It is Alina's turn to show them exactly what being the Sun Summoner means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone tell how I much I hate the king?   
> And can you tell how much I love feisty Alina? I live for it. LIVE for it.  
> As per, please give me feedback! I appreciate every comment.  
> Also, I've actually gotten round to setting up a writing blog on tumblr with a masterlist a everything! (look at me being all organised!) Its basically the same as my ao3 for the moment, but I'm hoping that as more people discover my writing, requests for drabbles and one shots might start popping up - I also have a main account (mostly Ya fiction, musicals, and greek mythology) so don't be afraid to check that out too if you like unorganised messes.  
> Thanks a bunch guys! The overall response to this has been beyond my imagination and I cannot express my gratitude enough.


	13. Confidant

The servant's name is Genya.

Alina soon learns that despite her incredible talents as a Tailor, Genya is still treated unjustly by both the royal family and the staff.

"The Queen is completely false." She begins as she brushes out Alina's hair. "I fix her crow's feet, pinken her skin, brighten her eyes, add shine to her hair _every. Single. Day._ And her precious little court constantly praise and mewl about how positively _wonderful_ she looks for her age! It's tiresome, Alina." She pauses for dramatic effect, rolling her eyes.  
"And the King! Well, you've met him and isn't he just..." Genya's voice slips away, and Alina notices in the mirror that her hand comes up to touch an emerald necklace at her throat. At first, Alina presumes it is a show of tenderness - and she can't understand for the life of her why anyone would be fond of a slobbery mess like the King - but then she sees the frown pulling at Genya's lips and the way her whole posture seems to slump. 

It doesn't take Alina long to figure out why someone so lively can become so defeated in a matter of seconds.

Genya had already mentioned, on their walk up to the suite, that the rest of the staff and Grisha occupying the palace have little taste for her. Alina had thought it was because of her high standing with the Queen, but now...

There are rumours that the King rewards his 'prized servants' with gifts beyond their imagination. It seems that the rumour has just been confirmed. Alina has a mental list of reasons for disliking the King, and it just keeps on growing. Developing. Like a virus.

Alina's hand slowly moves to meet Genya's, where it had rested on Alina's shoulder; It is a soft touch, tender, understanding. Genya's eyes flick to meet Alina's in the mirror. A tentative smile, a squeeze of the hand. 

Alina had thought that she'd hated the Darkling, when he'd taken her all those months ago. It was hard to remember quite how it felt as the months drew on, but she knows it was fierce and deep - but this, this hatred she feels for the King, the hatred she felt for the Darkling is nothing compared to this. It simmers, makes her blood boil and makes her want to grit her teeth. It is as deep as the depths of the ocean, but so much darker. Alina never thought herself capable of such blatant hatred - but he is a wicked man, a monster, and all Alina can think about is how she wants him to suffer like so many do under his care. Not that he exactly cares for them. 

"If it makes you feel any better," Alina began, calming her racing heart and smiling wider at Genya. "I think the Darkling may just strangle the old bastard by the time we leave."

The laugh it pulls from Genya is sweet, and breaks the tense atmosphere immediately. Alina breathes a sigh of relief, but the anger does not quite subside. There are a few moments of silence as Genya begins to experiment with Alina's hair and hums under her breath. It's calming. Not even her foster mother ever really looked after her in such a way. Alina's childhood was in fact quite lonely; days spent reading under the shade of a tree, painting in the fields, hiding in her room. She never allowed herself to get too close to people, emotionally and physically, to hide the ability she thought would get her killed. It makes her wonder how much she's missed by being so careful. Would she have had a friend as close as a sister, someone to share all of her deepest secrets with? It's almost painful, how Genya, technically a stranger, is the closest thing to a best friend she's ever had.

"So," There is a wicked gleam in Genya's eye that has Alina suddenly very wary about what is about to come out of her mouth next. "Tell me about this Darkling."

A lick of her lips, a small cough to clear her throat, and Alina begins. "Well, he stole me from my home simply to train me up for the King-" Alina catches Genya's eye in the mirror again and pauses when she sees the raise of her brow and the look on her face that just _screams_ be quiet.

"No, tell me about _him._ The enigma, the mystery - everyone knows, or suspects, how you came into his care, Alina. I want the details." It is m the wiggle of Genya's eyebrows that puts Alina completely at ease and loosens her lips. 

She takes a moment to think of what to say. It's not exactly a simple thing to talk about. He's technically her captor, but it's also technically benefited her. She's never been so powerful. He's still completely power hungry - it didn't really go down well when she called him a control freak - and has plenty of faults to count,  but she's still somehow developed feelings for the man. 

"He's always either stoic or smirking or scowling - that seems to be his emotional range. And he has this whole 'burdened by glorious purpose' thing going on, and he hates it when things don't go exactly his way. But then he just... likes looking at my paintings and doesn't act like I'm this fragile little creature and puts way too much sugar on his porridge in the morning." Alina can feel the flush climbing up her neck and to her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop because there is no judgment on Genya’s face whatsoever. She simply smiles, and nods in encouragement every so often. “But it turns out he’s just been training me up for the King, and I didn’t even know until days before we left for the palace. It hurt even though it probably shouldn’t have. We haven’t had a full conversation since then - he’s ignoring me like a coward.” 

It feels like a massive weight has been lifted off her shoulders, and Alina suddenly finds breathing much easier. She watches in the mirror as Genya fiddles with her hair, twirling it and holding it in different positions. "You know, I don't think he's entirely happy about this arrangement either.” Her voice breaks through the comfortable silence. Alina’s eyebrow raises, a sign for her to continue. “When I collected you earlier, you should have seen his face as you walked away. That man was full of longing, Alina. The last thing he wants to do is ignore you.”

"Probably because he realised he didn't have complete control of the situation." At her muttered response, Genya lightly wacks Alina over the head with the hairbrush and sends her a sharp, disapproving glare. All Alina can do is glare back, cross her arms, and sink into her seat slightly like a scolded child. She nearly sticks her tongue out too.

“He won’t like the idea of the King being interested - and that’s not just because it means he isn’t in full control anymore.”

Alina opens her mouth to retort with something snarky, a habit the Darkling will never be able to break no matter how hard he tries, but Genya cuts her off - there's a wicked gleam in her eye. Again. She's planning something, and it scares Alina half to death. 

"You're involved in the politics of court, whether you like it or not. Now, I bet that your brain is screaming at you to take him one on one or something, make him wish he’d never betrayed your trust.”

A small huff is the only sign that Alina agrees. She’s not a violent person, per se, but she’s always been a little aggressive, so to speak, in certain circumstances.

"But there are other ways to make a man wish he'd never crossed you - and I, your humble servant, am going to help you - you are incredibly welcome, by the way. There is nothing better than watching a usually firmly collected man become weak in the knees and regret everything he's ever done to hurt you. Trust me, Alina. I'm here to help, and this is going to work. Now, where is that powder?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genya finally makes an appearance! I just love her so so much she’s a literal ray of sunshine. 
> 
> I also think this is the most conversation I’ve included in a chapter ever. Dialogue does not always work well for me so here’s to hoping it’s worked this time!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s taking the time to read my little fanfic, it means so much.


	14. Painting III

Alina can't stop staring at herself in the mirror.

She looks like one of the paintings of those beautiful women that hang in the most famous galleries. The type of art that people crowd around to see, queuing all day just to catch a glimpse. Practically perfect.

Genya catches her eye in the mirror and winks, her devious plan falling into place as she had hoped.

The perfect painting, indeed.


	15. Intruder

Her cheeks are flushed and her arms are crossed as she stands rigid, frowning at the intruder - _a prince of all people!_ \- that scans her entire body from the wisps of her hair to the tips of her toes.

"The King is going to seethe... I simply cannot wait!" 

It's his devious grin that convinces her to take his arm, because if she's going to be stuck in this hell hole for a whoever knows how long, then it'll be nice to have more than one ally.

And she'll gladly be an ally of anyone who badmouths the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m back! So just a couple of short ones because they’re leading up to the biggun! Boy I am excited!!!!
> 
> On another note, school is quickly approaching which means updates will be much slower (I’m sorry but it’s THE vital year and I am determined to show eveyone’s who’s boss).


	16. Hunger

Alina remembers one of the first holidays she had with her foster mother. They went to this little seaside town, quiet, tucked-away, unassuming, yet famous for the large white cliffs it stood on and the beautiful blue water that crashed against the shore. Alina had quickly fallen in love with the place, especially with the view from the highest point of the cliffs; the way the sea seemed to shimmer like no sea she'd ever seen before, how smooth pebbles glistened along the shore line - but most of all she loved the sunrise, how the darkness yielded to light in the most beautiful way possible. Usually her mother would accompany her, but one morning Alina - only nine years old and curious beyond her years - snuck out of the little white cottage and headed for the cliffs. It was just as beautiful as every morning before - maybe even more so when accompanied with the sense of freedom - but caught up in her wonder, Alina hadn't noticed how close to the edge she'd gotten. If it hadn't been for her mother, hearing her clumsy steps exit the house, following her to the cliffs, latching onto her hand at the last second, Alina would have fallen.

This is what entering the ballroom reminds her of. If it wasn't for Nikolai's comforting, and strangely familiar, presence, then Alina would be teetering on the edge of the cliff, falling and falling until she hit the solid ground. Her fingers tighten on his arm, his only reply a playful hiss and a comforting touch of his hand against hers. It says _you're going to be okay, I'm here to help_ \- and it's a comfort, but not even a prince can truly save her from the sea of sycophants below.

Eyes in the room slide towards them, and Alina nearly bristles under their piercing gaze. She'd call them peacocks, with their bright dresses and desperate displays of wealth and power, but their predatory gases and painted fingernails that could probably rip into her remind her much more of birds of prey; they are vultures, ready to swoop in the moment she stumbles.

But they'll be waiting a long time.

Alina doesn't plan on stumbling.

But it's not like she planned on being in the palace in the first place, either.

As they begin walking down the steps, Alina trying to be as graceful as she can in the uncomfortable shoes Genya squeezes her feet into, more people begin to notice their presence. If she were anyone else, she would presume the attention was on Nikolai - the prince who has finally returned from whatever his most recent escapade once, the prince who looks strangely nothing like his father. And those whispers do circulate. But so do the ones focused more on Alina herself. _It's the Sun Summoner_ they whisper. _The King's new pet_. 

They are halfway down the stairs when Alina catches his gaze. She tries to convince herself that she'd almost forgotten about him - but how can anyone truly forget about someone with such a strong magnetism? He invades her thoughts constantly. There's no point lying to herself, especially not when she can feel her cheeks heating at the sight of him. 

It's not until the reach the bottom of the stairs that he finally approaches. 

A lump catches in her throat, but she forces it down and instead attempts to exert the same sort of confidence as Genya, as Sturmhond, and it must work, as Nikolai smiles down at her in what looks like pride. There's a faint squeeze of her hand but Alina can't take her eyes away from the Darkling. Not that she's particularly trying to, but that's not the point. Nikolai leaves with promise of getting her a drink, and she thinks she nods in response, possibly thanks him, but it's all a blur compared to the way she analyses the Darkling's appearance with perfect clarity. 

His kefta is black and silver like anything else he wears, but the embroidery is so much more ornate than anything she has ever seen, and it must be Katarina's work because it doesn't just take her breath away, it steals it, rips it from her lungs in the most vicious way possible - because that's what the Darkling is: viciously, dangerously, painfully beautiful. The sharp cut of his cheekbones, the elegant slope of his nose, the wicked fullness of his lips and the depths of his eyes make her chest _ache_ with something foreign. It almost makes her angry. The absurd perfection of it all causes some primal urge to rip into him, tear him to pieces, ruin him in every way possible because it isn't fair for someone to look so perfect - but Alina has always adored the idea of perfection, admired the most beautiful things in life, and so can't bring herself to even pull a lock of hair out of place. 

The look in his eyes almost makes her stumble back a step.

The Darkling is a composed man. Every action, every word is calculated before it is done or said. Each raw emotion is hidden behind cold eyes and a sarcastic smirk, tucked away in a safe so complicated that not even the most talented thief can breach the locks. But Alina has lived with this man for six months now, which is long enough for her to garner what he's thinking. There's a small tick in his jaw as he scans her form, a slight flare of his nostrils when he realises what message she is sending to every guest in the large ballroom. 

Genya has done her job incredibly well.

Her eyes are lined with dark kohl, and Genya has somehow darkened and extended her lashes; the whole effect is outstanding really. Alina never knew her eyes could look so striking. Her hair is pulled back into a loose bun, tendrils of hair framing her cheekbones - which have been defined further with some dark powder Genya used. And then there’s her lips, which are a deep, blood red, and capture the Darkling’s attention for a few seconds, much to her delight. 

But her makeup is nothing compared to the effect that the dress has on him. It’s not like it’s something he hasn’t seen before; it’s the same one from all those months ago, the black dress that bares her neck and shoulders and accentuates a figure Alina never really knew she had. Although the skirts fills out, the slope is far more elegant than any of the other dresses she seen. It’s nothing new, but the concept of the gold amongst the dark adheres completely to his possessive nature. It’s nothing explicit, but the implications are still there, and the Darkling knows it. 

Slowly, almost as if handling something fragile - though Saints know how he even knows how to be gentle - the Darkling reaches out and runs his elegant fingers across the embroidery of the sleeve at her bicep. It’s thin, only really there to keep the dress from slipping off, and so his fingers accidentally - although, probably not, knowing him - brush against her bare skin. Goosebumps rise immediately. She expects a smirk, some sign of his ego slipping through the cracks of his composure, but instead he simply stares at the area that his fingers have touched. There is a hunger in his eyes that Alina has never seen before. It shakes her to the core, sets her being on fire. She briefly wonders what it would feel like to have his fingers skim below the neckline. Alina stops the thought before it can progress any further.

“He told you to wear gold.” He murmurs, slowly placing his hand back at his side. 

“He didn’t say how much.” She retorts in return, fingers absentmindedly running across the skirt of her dress. “As far as I’m concerned, he didn’t give clear enough instructions to his _pet_ ”.

“The King won’t be pleased.” 

“He wasn’t the one I wore this for.” Alina raises her eyes to meet his. She’d always thought it was a silly observation, something imagined, when she overheard any woman explain how her lover’s eyes had darkened at the sight of her. But now, under the Darkling’s gaze, she begins to realise the truth of it. It only makes what she says next even more exhilarating. “I wore it for myself. I look rather striking, no thanks to Genya.” He smirks, and she smirks in return - though it falters when he leans in closer so that his breath fans across her face. 

“Regretfully, Alina, I don’t quite believe you.” 

“Believe what you like. It doesn’t matter to me.” 

But the way her body reacts to his, leans forwards to meet him match for match, gaze unwavering, just shows how much his opinion does matter. And he knows it too. His eyes flicker down to her lips for a brief second, before he pulls away completely. The space between them feels too vast, but there is still the tether there, the connection that is so taught with tension it may snap any second. It feels like the calm before the storm; the anticipation that something life changing will happen, something dangerous and exhilarating and _raw_. 

“Then you won’t want to know what I thought when you first walked down those steps.” 

She doesn’t know what overcomes her, what possesses her to do such a thing, but Alina is in his space, on her tiptoes so that she can brush her lips against the shell of his ear as she speaks. 

“I imagine it isn’t appropriate for polite company.” 

A hand presses into her lower back, warm - no, _hot_ \- while he reverses their positions. His voice is low as he speaks, smug with an undertone or something she can’t decipher, but really wants to. 

“Not in the slightest.” 

Her eyes meet his again, and this time it’s her who glances down at his lips. She’s about to speak, or lean in, or pull away when the band suddenly starts to play and the decision is made for her. Alina’s heart races as she steps away, her hand, which had somehow made its way to his chest, removes itself as quickly as possible. Though his lingers, as if he has all the time in the world. 

There’s another reason for her racing heart, besides the position she’s just been in. The loud music can only mean one thing: the King has arrived, and fear settles in Alina’s stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back!!!!!! I know it’s been quite a while, but I’ve been super busy with coursework and Uni applications and the like. Ya gal is acing A-levels and I’m living for it. I was so excited to get this chapter written - and I just wanted it to be as good as it could possibly be. Which it may not be, but I’m glad that I’ve updated, and I think that my writing has definitely progressed in general (including all my tumblr business) since I first started. There’ll be a few chapters on this ball scene, since I didn’t want to squeeze it all into one. There’s probably a few mistakes/typos, but once I’ve finished then entire fic I may come back and edit it all.


	17. Intruder II

_Calm, stay calm._

Rapidly, she tries to find Nikolai in the crowd. As much as she presence of the Darkling feels like protections from the courtiers, Nikolai is her safety blanket when it comes to his father. He's the only one who could truly make any sort of stand against him. One step out of line, especially with his past - even if it's only the King that knows about it - and the Darkling will be punished within an inch of his life. Not that he couldn't fight back, but Alina imagines they have plans in place just in case he needs to be detained. All Gods and monsters can be defeated, no matter their strength.

She wonders if the King realises he doesn't look regal in any sense. Yes, his uniform is immaculate as he walks down the steps with the Queen on his arm, but his posture is too bowed and his movements too lazy to appear imposing. He doesn't have the presence that a person like Nikolai does. When Nikolai steps towards the bottom of the steps to greet his father, she can't help but note the differences between them. Nikolai's features hold a certain intelligence and cunning to them, as if he has every word and action planned out to the finest detail, while his father seems to be lacking in the intelligence department. It's easy to believe that his councillors are the ones that whisper information into his ear, like some puppet on strings.

She's always hated puppets.

Even their appearances at a base level are completely different. There's definitely more of his mother in his features - perhaps that's why he seemed so familiar when she first met him.

Analysing the interaction - the shake of the hand, the stiff, polite smile - is enough to make her notice the absence that he created when he left her side. Her hands clench at her sides, nails creating red crescent moons where they dig into her skin. She presumes it’s just the tension in her muscles, until a cool hand presses further into her back and warm lips hover by her ear.

“You need to calm down.” Alina forces her gaze away from the King and his smug smile to glance subtly at the Darkling. His eyes flicker down to her hands and it’s only then that Alina notices that they’re beginning to glow - which explains the sudden heat. “I thought I taught you how to keep control.” His tone is grave, full of warning. She needs to hide her emotions more carefully. 

Alina rubs her hands together, trying to practice her breathing exercise as quietly and subtly as possible. They don’t need anyone thinking she’s about to burst into sunlight. “You did - but you know it can still get the best of me sometimes.” She mutters in return. Their heated conversation seems like aeons ago.

The hand on her back lightens it’s touch, but doesn’t move. He’s keeping her in place, under his control. Alina rolls her eyes. 

“You’re scared.” At this she swats his hand from her back - but doesn’t move away. Not yet. 

“I’m not scared.” Her ministrations pause slightly when she realises it’s true. There’s no stutter of her heart, or breath catching in her throat - tell tale signs of lying. “I’m angry. Men like him don’t deserve to be in positions of power or wealth. The way he treats Grisha - the way he treats people,” Alina catches a glimpse of a white clothing - a servant’s uniform - and feels her blood boil. “It’s not right. He’s spineless and weak. He thinks himself a God, but he’s nothing more than a cockroach.” 

There’s a brief silence. It isn’t like the Darkling to remain quiet. He always has something to say, always has something planned. So Alina looks up, only to catch his gaze - a myriad of pride and heat. It’s not something she’s used to. 

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.” 

Before she can question what he means, a loud cough comes from beside them. It demands attention. Attention she doesn’t want to give, but must. The Darkling notices the pinched look to Alina’s features, and smirks before turning towards the intruder. After a moment Alina does the same, plastering a smile just as false as the Queen’s youth on her lips.

“Your highness-” The Darkling begins, only to be cut off by the King - who hasn’t even bothered to acknowledge his presence. 

“A dance, Sun Summoner? You are my esteemed guest, after all.”

Alina can’t risk denying him. It’s obvious that she’s well enough to attend such an event, and therefore dance, and saying no outright will just bruise his ego and paint an even larger target on her back. She’s all for pushing her luck - and has become quite practiced in it, really - but she’s not quite ready to be the King’s enemy just yet. 

She nods, attempts a slight curtesy (it had taken Genya almost an hour to reach her how to do it properly. Apparently being the Sun Summoner doesn’t grant you automatic grace) and takes his hand. It’s rough with age, not with callouses. This man hasn’t worked a day in his life. And yet, still demands that others do their best for him.

As he pulls her on to the dance floor - drags, actually - Alina resists the urge to heat her hand until it burns. Unfortunately, sunlight doesn’t come with subtly when it’s in the middle of a ballroom, and the King would know straight away what had happened, even if he does have the intelligence of a wooden spoon.

The dance itself is awkward. Not because Alina isn’t the best dancer; she can manage, and can dance in time with the music. It’s because he seems very intent on holding her as close as possible. His quite frankly putrid breath fans over her forehead and his hands are gripping too tightly on to her own hand and waist. It’s only a glimpse into what Genya suffers through, but it’s enough to make her want to scrub herself raw, until she’s bleeding and completely cleansed of his touch. 

The courtiers watch as they dance, whispering behind fans and hands to hide their true thoughts. It makes her feel sick, the falseness of the entire evening. She misses Nikolai’s quick wit. She wants the Darkling in her arms instead.

“I thought I told you to wear gold.” Told, not asked, as if he has the right to dictate what she wears. The statement is whispered under his breath with a soft, but incredibly false smile. To anyone else it would seem as though they were having polite conversation. Alina smiles in return.

“I am - the gold embroidery is quite exquisite, no? And I do love the way it contrasts with the black.” Even he picks up on the hidden meaning. The Darkling holds more importance in her life than the King - and even then she resists any control as much as possible. Alina’s grin widens at the flash of anger in his eyes. There’s something satisfying about making any man want to lose control, and she’s succeeded twice in one evening. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, indeed. 

The King releases a sigh, before detaching himself from Alina’s hold. “I ought to check on the Queen. Have a lovely night, Sun Summoner.” As soon as he’s placed a kiss on her knuckles - she forces herself to remain still when she shiver shoves its way down her spine - and has left, Alina is storming towards the crowd as gracefully as possible. Desperately she tries to find Nikolai. She needs someone to tell her something funny, something to cheer her up. She needs his little quips and smart remarks and needs someone to mock the King in the only way he knows how. 

She finds him by a servant that holds a tray of drinks - and takes one from the tray as soon as she arrives. 

But Nikolai takes it from her a millisecond after. 

A protest forms on her tongue, but he’s already shaking his head and tutting at her annoyed expression. “We don’t need a drunk and angry Sun Summoner burning my father to a crisp, do we?” She means to protest again, but the way Nikolai raises his eyebrow at her and glances down at her hands - he must have seen the glowing earlier on - shuts her up immediately. So instead she shrugs. It’s not her fault she has a temper - not that she’s sure who’s fault it is exactly. Alina doesn’t have biological parents to blame. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking how the dance went.” 

“None at all... he noticed the dress.” Nikolai’s smirk is enough to make her snort. Alina crosses her arms over her chest as she glances out across the crowd again. Several couples are dancing now - and they look much happier than she felt, and currently feels. “Not happy at all, I’m afraid. Such a shame, really. I tried so hard to impress him.” 

“Of course you did.” They stand in comfortable silence as the pair study the guests. Quite a few women - and even men - seem to be searching for someone. One look at the slight grimace on Nikolai’s face confirms her suspicions: they’re searching for him. Alina opens her mouth to make some smart comment - the type that seems smarter in one’s head - but Nikolai gestures with a quick nod of his head in the other direction. “Your esteemed not-quite-lover seems to be looking for you.” 

_Not-quite-lover?_ “Nikolai that’s atrocious-” 

“Alina.” 

The single world makes her freeze and melt all at the same time. He’s many juxtapositions rolled into one; he’s a cruel, ruthless man with a penchant for putting far too much sugar on his porridge in the morning. He controls the dark but enjoys letting sunlight caress his features. Alina could go on forever, but she has to face him at some point. When she turns to finally face the Darkling, his hand is outstretched and a smirk graces his lips. It’s beautiful. An angel of death come to take her away. She can almost see the wings behind him - tendrils of shadow that curl and move as if they have a life of their own. She wants to paint it.

It will have to wait.

“A dance?” He asks - asks, doesn’t demand- and it feels like so much more than an invitation. They’ve danced around each other many times before, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to spin away in this instance. 

Alina looks to Nikolai one last time, glancing down at the glass in his hand and back up at him with what she hopes is a pleasing and desperate expression. 

_Please save me a drink for after this. I think I will need it._

A raise of his eyebrows. A quirk of his lips.

_We’ll see._

Alina takes her angel’s hand carefully, meeting his gaze with one as heated and wilful as his own, before she is swept away in a cloud of shadow and dusk and heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update that didn’t take two months???? You’re welcome.  
> This chapter is a little bit of a filler, and you can probably guess what the next chapter will be. I won’t be focusing on the ball for much longer, but I felt like it deserved a little attention because to me it feels like quite a pivotal point in Alarkling’s relationship. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	18. Dance II

The hand on her lower back casts heat through the material of her dress and seeps into her skin. She can feel each finger tip, the slight press and soft release as he manoeuvres her along the smooth, marble floor. For a moment, she wonders what this heat would feel like against bare skin - but only briefly. They may simply be dancing, but she still needs to keep her wits about her. Her own hand rests lightly on his shoulder, tantalisingly brushing against the boundary between dark and light, while the other remains clasped in his own. 

"You have angered the King." Alina's eyes flash up to his momentarily. They focus on her completely - the intensity of his gaze is almost enough to make her forget that she's still frustrated with him. Almost. Alina has always been very stubborn. "

"I promise not to make a habit of it." Her retort is met with a soft sigh, and Alina smiles sweetly. "Actually, I'm feeling rather tired-"

"Not yet." Before Alina can make a quick escape, his hands are on her waist and she is being lifted into the air. All the dancers are in sync, but she knows that all eyes are on the pair draped in black. It doesn't help that the Darkling takes the opportunity to pull her even closer. The hand on her back is now like a vice - a vice that she wouldn't mind in any other situation, but she really has had enough of the evening. "Let me enjoy your company for a moment longer." 

"I can’t work out if you are angry or proud of me.” She finally admits. Her fingers finally break free of any self control, and cross into new territory. A brush across pale skin, whispering against the fine hairs at his nape. Oh, how she wants to tangle her fingers in his hair and scrape against his scalp. She wants to make him quiver, quake, before her. He watches her expression with a heated one of his own. 

“I wasn’t aware you sought after my pride.” It’s dismissive, and the anger Alina feels anchors her against the rising tide of desire. She desperately wants to forget how she seems to fit perfectly against him - she doesn’t want to lose the memory of his solid chest against her own. Her mind is a series of contradictions and juxtapositions. 

She shrugs. “I don’t. But it would be nice to know what you’re thinking, every now and then.” 

“What I am thinking?” His voice has dipped, lost its clear, cutting nature. The pure depth and heat in those four words causes heat to bloom in the pit of her stomach. Her heart refuses to slow down, it’s running the race of its life. “I am thinking that you chose this dress deliberately to frustrate me. I am thinking that I hate it for working, I love it for its pure symbolism. I am thinking of dark alcoves, lips and teeth and tongue, quiet moans and sharp breaths.” He has her undivided attention now. Alina finds herself leaning into him further, her eyes transfixed on the cruel curve of his lips. Her fingers are leaving crescent moons on the skin of his neck. He doesn’t seem to mind. She wonders where else he’d like her to leave them. “I am thinking that if you want to survive here, you must be more careful.” 

It breaks the spell. 

Alina moves to wrench away from him, but his grip holds firm. They have halted in the middle of a swirling whirlpool of vibrancy. Pink and green mixed with blue and yellow flash around her, twirling and dizzying. 

“This is a whole new world, Alina. In the world of Gods and monsters, Saints struggle to survive.” It’s the coldest she’s ever heard him. It is ice cold water over her head, a sudden slap or a kick to the shin.

Looking back, she will tell herself that she managed to pull free, but she knows that it was actually he that let her go. The words engrave themselves into the darkest corners of her mind, force their way into her soul. They follow her to her room and remain under the covers, seeping into her dreams and into the air she breathes.

She hates him for being blunt.

She hates him for being right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been months and I deeply apologise for that, but I have a solid outline and know exactly what each chapter from now on is going to be based on. I can only hope you find the ending as satisfying as I think it is. As always, let me know what you think!


End file.
